


Innocence/Experience

by Moonsheen



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Family Bonding, Gen, Mild Spoilers, Missing Scene, Near Death Experiences, Nero swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 16:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18077174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsheen/pseuds/Moonsheen
Summary: Pre-Mission 17. V is fading fast and Nero's not sure what to do about  it.





	Innocence/Experience

V was surprisingly heavy. It wasn’t that Nero wanted sweep him up bridal style or anything, but he hadn’t the going to be just that slow. Maybe it was the coat. Nero wasn’t about to make him ditch it, though, not when he spent every other step shuddering against him like a kid with a cold. Every step seemed to make V weigh more and more, as he leaned harder and harder against Nero, his bony fingers clutching and the back of his coat as though it were his last grasp on mortality.

Which it probably was. So. This was the real meaning of ‘dead weight.’

Nero kept that thought to himself. Fucking Dante.

As they rounded another corridor, V’s cane caught a ridge. He pitched forward with a creaking gasp. Nero had to throw an arm around his waist to keep him from collapsing entirely. 

“Hey, V,” said Nero. “Wanna wait a minute? Think something’s loose in my arm. Go fig, it was one of Nico’s new monstrosities.”

He’d meant to let V save face about it, but the hand found his shoulder again. V wasn’t fooled at all by Nero’s nonchalance. There was nothing in those dark eyes but bright desperation.

“No,” whispered V. “Lay me down now, I will not get up again.”

“Suit yourself,” said Nero, like it wasn’t anything. “Not like we’re catching Dante any time soon.”

He could tell from the emptiness the halls Dante had already been this way anyway. For a little bit, the only sounds they could hear as they trudged along were the twisting of the Qliphoth and V mumbling. Verses, Nero realized. More poetry. V muttered under his breath, between barely choked back coughs. 

It drove Nero nuts. “Okay. What is it with the poetry, V? Some kind of wizard thing I don’t know about it?”

V laughed. Nero tried not to think about the little flakes that came off his cheeks as he did that. “If it was a spellbook you and I would be much better served. No. Just verse, nothing more, nothing less. I find it...heartening.”

Nero’d lost his fill of scripture back in Sister Domina’s Sunday school, but he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to not think about how he was dragging a guy who was literally coming apart at the seams. “Yeah? Can’t say it’s ever done much for me. What is it? Shakespeare?” 

“Despite what my compatriots may have suggested, no. Blake.”

“Who?”

V took another shuddering breath, but he seemed to carry his own weight more, as they turned down the next hall. “William Blake.” His voice rose, a bit, with the familiarity of it. “19th century lake poet.” He stood a little straighter. “He was a printer. He was...he was…”

Another stumble. Nero caught him. “Yeah, no idea what any of that means.”

V shut his eyes.

“Tyger, tyger, burning bright…” he whispered.

“In the forest of the night,” finished Nero. “Oh.”

“You do know it,” murmured V. 

He looked surprised enough Nero scowled.

“Hey, Fortuna wasn’t that backwater,” snapped Nero. “Everyone’s heard that one. That’s about all I know, though. Don’t ask me to write an essay on it or anything.”

“Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,” repeated V.

Ah, hell. There he went. But Nero didn’t stop him. V was standing a little straighter. His steps gained a bit more purpose. As they passed down the next set of twisting branches, he recited:

“In the forest of the night,  
What immortal hand or eye,  
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?” 

In what distant deeps or skies.  
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?  
On what wings dare he aspire?  
What the hand, dare seize the fire? 

And what shoulder and what….”

“And what…and what...” V began to cough. He kept coughing. Nero didn’t grab too hard at him. He wasn’t sure V’s arm wouldn’t come off under his hand.

“Change your mind about that rest?”

“I can’t remember the rest,” admitted V. For the first time, he sounded genuinely scared.

“Nooot what I meant, V,” said Nero. V shoved himself forward, balanced heavily on his cane. He made a point of taking the next few steps alone. 

"It's from the Songs of Innocence,” said V. “Probably his most well-known poem. Simple. Not his most revelatory. Still, it brought me much joy. I remember that. I do… remember that…”

Nero didn’t expressly offer his arm to V, but he made a point of walking next him the next time he floundered.

“It was a book I read when I was young,” whispered V, distantly now, raving like he was in the grips of some fever dream. “My neighbor collected rare books. I would read them. When I wanted quiet. Yes, quiet. The house was noisy. He was so noisy. Mother would come looking for me, when it got dark….”

Nero really hoped he wasn’t about to die in his arms. At least they reached another gap in the roots. He let Griffon take V down to the next level. He found V on one knee, hauling himself up by his cane. Somehow he stood.

“Yeah?” said Nero, hoping maybe to get the topic away from anything vaguely related to ‘the dark.’ “Okay, fine, I’ll bite. Have any favorites?” 

V chuckled, softly. Carefully. Like his insides might come apart if he did it too hard. Nero tried to stop thinking about that. “When I was young, I hardly understood it. I understood so little then, little fool. But there was one….’Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare, you know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.’ I didn’t think much about the meaning. I liked that he had white hair. Like mine. Like…”

V stared off into the distance, like he could see more than just a pulsing wall. 

Nero blinked at him. “Wait, really?” 

V flinched. So he’d let something slip. “I told you I was a fool.” 

“I mean, that’s ink that comes out, when you do that thing with the big guy--you know what, sure, whatever,” said Nero, when V looked at him. Well. There was one secret out of him, for whatever it was worth. “That’s one hell of a dye job.”

“That is one way to put it.”

“Well. Can’t say I didn’t consider it,” said Nero. “I used to catch shit for for my hair back in school. Not a lot of platinum blondes in Fortuna, yanno? And they’d stick me in these stupid little frocks for services so I’d look like a goddamn sheep and -- anyway kids are assholes.”

“So it’s natural,” murmured V. 

“Yup. Born grey as a goddamn mule. Fun, isn’t it?

“And you kept it.” 

Nero wondered if V was just humoring him at that point, but hey, it was something. 

“It was easier to just pop ‘em one for saying anything,” said Nero. Well, actually, it cost him the wrath of more than a few nuns and a few hours of enforced prayer, but it was worth it. 

“I’m sorry,” said V.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” said Nero. “Little Marco from first grade isn’t exactly high on my list of problems right now.”

“I’m so sorry,” said V, again. Nero wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but it wasn’t about the schoolyard fight anymore. “You are an honest person. You would never have been involved if not for me. I…”

“I had my own bone to pick,” said Nero. He held up Devil Breaker. That didn’t seem to help. V just dropped his head. His shoulders shook. He nearly crumpled on the spot. Nero managed to stick an arm out for him to lean against before he fell the entire way. It only sort of worked. V folded entirely, and Nero had to put both arms out to catch him.

“Sorry,” mumbled V, against his shoulder. Listlessly. “Sorry, sorry…”

Nero had a feeling he wasn’t talking to him anymore. God, this was awkward. He had half a mind to just lay V out and leave him here to sleep it off, but he remembered what V had said earlier about never getting up again, and he set him on his feet instead. 

“Look, it’s fine,” said Nero. “Whatever it is, it’s fine. All cleansed in the fires of the blade and all that.”

V stared at him. Nero coughed. Great. Now he was sounding like he was the Sunday school teacher. A Sunday school teacher from the Order of the Sword, which was about the weirdest brand you could get.

“On second thought,” said Nero. “Let’s just get to the end of this and kick this guys ass. I’m not sure what the hell your deal is, but you want that, right?”

V pressed his lips together, but he managed a slow nod. 

“And if Dante’s already beaten us to it, we’ll pick him up and do it again. How’s that sound?” continued Nero. “And just. Keep talking, all right? Keep talking and keep walking. If you can do both, we'll get there.”

“If all do their duty, they need not fear harm,” said V.

**Author's Note:**

> My father burned his copy of William Blake's poems.


End file.
